“But,” she continues,[45] “let us imagine a remote future, and a far-away place—say the Cassiterides[46]—and men and women, lonely and ignorant—strangers in very deed—but with feelings similar to our own. Let us suppose that some work of Zeuxis or Pheidias has been transported to their shores, and that they are compelled to acknowledge its excellence from its own point of view—its colouring true to nature, though not to their own type—its unveiled forms decorous, though not conforming to their own standard of decorum. Might they not still, and justly, tax it on its own ground with some flaw or incongruity, which proved the artist to have been human? And may not a stranger, judging you in the same way, recognize in you one part of peccant humanity, poet ‘three parts divine’ though you be?”
“You declare comedy to be a prescriptive rite, coeval in its birth with liberty. But the great days of Greek national life had been reached when comedy began. You declare also that you have refined on the early practice, and imported poetry into it. Comedy is therefore, as you defend it, not only a new invention, but your own. And, finally, you declare your practice of it inspired by a fixed purpose. You must stand or fall by the degree in which this purpose has been attained.”
“You would, by means of comedy, discredit war. Do you stand alone in this endeavour?” And she quotes a beautiful passage from ‘Cresphontes,’ a play written by Euripides for the same end. “And how, respectively, have you sought your end? Euripides, by appealing to the nobler feelings which are outraged by war; you, by expatiating on the animal enjoyments which accompany peace. The ‘Lysistrata’ is your equivalent for ‘Cresphontes.’ Do you imagine that its obscene allurements will promote the cause of peace? Not till heroes have become mean voluptuaries, and Cleonymos,[47] whom you yourself have derided, becomes their type.”
“You would discredit vice and error, hypocrisy, sophistry and untruth. You expose the one in all its seductions, and the other in grotesque exaggerations, which are themselves a lie; showing yourself the worst of sophists—one who plays false to his own soul.”
“You would improve on former methods of comedy. You have returned to its lowest form. For you profess to strike at folly, not at him who commits it: yet your tactics are precisely to belabour every act or opinion of which you disapprove, in the form of some one man. You pride yourself, in fact, on giving personal blows, instead of general and theoretical admonitions; and even here you seem incapable of hitting fair; you libel where you cannot honestly convict, and do not care how ignoble or how irrelevant the libel may be. Does the poet deserve criticism as such? Does he write bad verse, does he inculcate foul deeds? The cry is, ’he cannot read or write;’ ‘he is extravagant in buying fish;’ ’he allows someone to help him with his verse, and make love to his wife in return;’ ‘his uncle deals in crockery;’ ‘his mother sold herbs’ (one of his pet taunts against Euripides); ’he is a housebreaker, a footpad, or, worst of all, a stranger;’”—a term of contempt which, as Balaustion reminds him has been repeatedly bestowed upon himself.